But did it happen?

"We do not remember days. We remember moments."  Cesare Pavese

Maybe this is how anyone who has retired from a meaningful vocation feels.  I can’t answer for anyone else, but it’s at least the way I feel about this one aspect of my life.   As my wife and I drove across Louisville, Kentucky in a downpour last Sunday night, I reflected on what happened there in  1977 through 1979 and I wondered if it really had ever happened. I’m fairly certain it happened, but other than a diploma there’s no evidence that anything happened at all.

I knew I wanted to attend seminary even before  I transferred to my senior college from my junior college.  For those three years I was very much looking forward  to my seminary years.  For that matter, I had already decided that I wanted to attend the Southern Baptist Theological Seminary in Louisville. This seminary was referred to as SBTS, Southern  Seminary or quite often as just “Southern.” At the time there were six seminaries in the Southern Baptist Convention and I was very proud to be accepted as a student there.

For the record, I am no longer a Southern Baptist and have little to no respect for the convention or its institutions.  I can't blame you if you do not share my enthusiasm for what this institution meant to me. But at the time, "Southern" was one of the most respected divinity schools in the world and its music school was one of the best schools of music in the country. This music school was not only one of the best schools in the Southern Baptist Convention, but one of the best schools of music anywhere.  Regardless of what I thought I would do during my tenure at "Southern" before I enrolled, someone said, "David, you'll be there to earn a master's degree and they don't give them away". Upon enrollment I was at the height of my academic and musical ability.  At my age I was the musical equivalent of a fighter pilot. I could fly in formation with the best of  them.

The faculty of  the Southern Baptist Theological Seminary's music school was incredible. The faculty was decorated with doctorate and post-doctorate degrees and brought with them years of performance and teaching experience.  I felt fortunate to be associated with all of them. Dr. Wilkey,  my voice professor, approached his craft scientifically. He expected no less than perfect effort from his students in everything to do with the production of song. Drs. Landgrave and Turner, my composition professors, encouraged me to push the boundaries of my ability to compose original music. I became quite adept,  for example,  at composing using Arnold Schoenberg's highly complex twelve tone system. Dr Turner said, "You're a lot better at it than I am." Dr. Lin,  my conducting professor, had me look at every note of every measure and pushed me to conduct each one as a separate unit. In his broken Chinese-English he would ask, "How are you going to do with that beat?"  He meant, each one. "How are you going to conduct that particular beat?"  I studied hard and I practiced hard. I showed up early and stayed late.  Dr. Turner thought enough of one of my compositions for voice and piano that he encouraged me to ask Dr.. Wilkey if I could include my original song cycle on my graduate voice recital.  Dr. Wilkey, this scientist-musician,  said "Yes" so that's what I did. My music was  in a program along with the music of the masters. For my graduate conducting recital I recruited and rehearsed thirty seminarians. After just six rehearsals, my choir performed flawlessly a contemporary work by Halsey Stevens.for choir and pipe organ, It was stunning, if I may say so myself.. As a singer I was a highly sought after baritone soloist.  I not only sang for churches, but sang with the Louisville Symphony and Opera Association. Dr. Landgrave honored me by asking me to sing the baritone solos for a major work he had composed for his church choir.

When the dust settled on my two years at "Southern", at graduation I had earned The Outstanding Conducting Student Award and was runner up to the Outstanding Music Student Award. The thing that meant the most to me was that I had earned the admiration and  respect of my professors and my peers.

 A long time ago I removed any reference to my being at SBTS. I realized that someone might mistake the current seminary for the one I graduated from.  After the hostile takeover of the Southern Baptist Convention by fundamentalists in the eighties, my incredible institution of theological and music education has become little more than a Calvanist Bible college. Furthermore, the music school doesn't even exist any more. I never refer to "seminary," but to graduate school. Why would I want you to think I earned my degree at a Bible college? Is there any honor in that?

But driving through Louisville on I-65 I felt something about that city and something about me.  In spite of the fact that my school doesn't exist anymore, I was very proud of who I was and of who I am. I'm very proud of what I accomplished for myself during those two eventful years. And I have much more than a piece of paper to show that I was there. Driving across town, I didn't have it all in my head, but I had it all in my heart. All of it was there. And besides all that, the girl sitting beside me in the car Sunday night was the same girl who put me through school back then. While I was doing what I was doing, she was typing away at 140 words per minute at office services and for Xerox. None of it would have been possible without her effort and support.

One other thing about driving through Louisville, Kentucky.  The speed limit is 55mph and if you speed you'll get a ticket.  I have a piece of paper to prove this, as well.

Minnesota, Norway and Me

I am  not capable of writing what I want to say about this.   Some would tell me, “Then don’t try. Leave your thoughts and feelings to yourself..”  But I’m not “many”. I am me. And I’m always willing to try to express in words what matters most to me.

This morning I happened into a documentary called 100 Years: The St. Olaf Choir in Norway. The production touched me deeply.   I maintained either a lump in my throat or tears in my eyes for the entire documentary.  I can’t say in a literal way that it’s “the story of my life” because there was my birth and the first nineteen years in Enterprise, Alabama.  But the presentation is for sure the story of my vocational life and my emotional life.  And that’s what touched me.

St. Olaf College was founded in Northfield, Minnesota by Norwegian-American immigrants in 1874.  Then in 1912, F. Melius Christiansen, another Norwegian immigrant,  formed the now world-renowned St. Olaf Choir.  The next year, in 1913, he took his choir back to Norway to visit and to perform. Five years ago the choir returned  to Norway to celebrate the 100^th  anniversary of that tour. From that experience the school also created  the documentary film I watched this morning.

In 1973, upon graduation from the Enterprise State Junior College, I intended to transfer to Auburn University.  But because of a choir, I instead found myself at Samford University in Birmingham. The A Cappella Choir would become my musical and emotional home for the next three years. There was that other home in  Jasper, Alabama, but that’s another story.  One of the highlights of my three years in this choir was a trip to Norway in the summer of 1975. The fjord cruise was without a doubt my most significant experience in beauty. The surrounding snow-capped peaks reflected into the blue-green waters creating the illusion that the river was a deep as the mountains were high. I take myself there in meditation quite often.  Another highlight was, when in the spring of 1976, the St. Olaf Choir visited Samford and performed in the Leslie Wright Fine Arts Center. As good as the Samford Choir was, I knew that I was in the presence of greatness. The music was extraordinary. I knew that we only approached the sounds coming out of this choir.

In 1976 after graduation I  married a girl in the Samford Choir and the next year we moved to Louisville, Kentucky for me to continue my education. Upon graduation in 1979, I accepted a position on a church staff in Rossville, Georgia. Four years later during a time of deep depression and discouragement, I resigned. I spent three frustrating years as a real estate agent.  Then I passed the Series 7 exam and affiliated with IDS Financial Services whose home was in Minneapolis, Minnesota. On the plane to Minnesota, I carried a thought that became a prayer. “I want to meet someone in this organization who will tell me that his affiliation with this company is an important part of his personal faith”. I met that man.  He  even invited me to choir rehearsal at his church, the Colonial Church in Edina, Minnesota. Of all things, I met  a woman in that choir who grew up in the church where I was on staff in Signal Mountain, Tennessee. The next Sunday at church in Edina, Minnesota, I met her parents who were founding members of the Signal Mountain Baptist Church. I also enjoyed a peak spiritual experience during the communion that followed the service.

Four years later I returned to Minneapolis as a trainer at IDS’s new multi-million dollar facility in Chaska. Besides being a workshop leader, in true Minneapolis fashion, I attended a professional hockey game at the Target Center and shopped at the Mall of America. I don’t remember anything about the training that I provided, but I remember a lot about the Mall of America. It’s like the retail equivalent to Disney World. There’s a roller coaster inside the three story mall!

So what about that documentary touched me so deeply? It was how the Minnesota-Norway connections of that college intersected  my own Minnesota-Norway experience. And how the music of the St. Olaf Choir intersected the music of my own Samford University A Cappella Choir. There I I sang much of the music I heard this morning.  I knew it by heart.

While I was on staff of that church in Rossville, Georgia, the church provided a house for us just a few  blocks from the church.  For the last thirty five years, we have lived within five miles of that house. We've lived thirty two of those years in the same house. So now you can understand how this documentary is a significant part of “the story of my life”. Now you can understand how Minnesota and  Norway have become such  important parts of me. The song I was looking for when I found this documentary was O Day Full of Grace by F. Melius Christiansen.. It was my favorite piece during my three years at Samford.  As I listened to the St. Olaf Choir singing a song composed by its founder, I was flooded with remembrance.

It has been raining a slow, gentle rain since yesterday and it's still raining now. And I have nowhere to be till Tuesday morning. It's a day full of grace, indeed. 

This Was Only a Test

"This has been a test. It was only a test." The Emergency Broadcast System

I don't know about you, but all the tests I ever took felt like the real thing.  A "test" by definition would be a trial of sorts and not the actual situation being tested. A "test" suggests that it was only practice.  "Don't worry if you fail it; it wasn't the real thing. You'll get another chance." But through all my years of education, a test was an awesome thing. It didn't feel like practice; it felt like the real deal.

I was a good student. Well, actually, I was a very good student. I prepared for exams and approached each one as a sort of end-of-the-world experience. If every test was not enough to worry about, final exams in particular got me worked up. To think that I was about to face a comprehensive semester exam kept me up late. Literally. I stayed up studying until I was convinced I knew the material. I always passed and usually made an A or a B, but when the next final came around, it felt again that my reputation and my future was on the line. It didn't feel like "only a test."

The second hardest test I ever took was not a part of my college education.  In the fall of 1986, I studied for the Series 7 stockbroker exam.  All the information on stocks, bonds and markets was completely new to me. Since I was not working at the time, I set up shop at our kitchen table.  And I treated the study like a job. I clocked in at 8a.m., took a break for lunch and studied until 5p.m. I kept up this schedule for about seven weeks until I took the exam.  I had to wait several weeks for the results. One morning I was sitting in the floor contemplating the meaning of life and feeling sorry for myself.  The phone rang and it was Sarah at IDS Financial Services.  She said, "I'm calling to tell you that you passed the the Series 7.  You made a 77."  I cried with relief and joy. "I'm going to be a financial advisor!"

I failed the most difficult exam that I've ever taken. Three years before taking this test, I had embarked on the arduous process of becoming a CFP-- Certified Financial Planner. This was the most important and prestigious designation in financial services. The media encouraged the public to seek the services of a CFP because of his ethics and professionalism. I very much wanted to be a CFP.. At the time I had to pass six exams and then a comprehensive exam.  I figured if I could pass all six then the comprehensive shouldn't be that much harder.  I was wrong about that.  Each of those six exams was as hard at the Series 7. I failed and retook two of those six exams, but I was finally qualified to take the comprehensive. I had never studied as hard in my life.  I lived with that material for months. I woke up with it, carried it through the day and took it to bed in the evening.  I studied at home, at the local library, in coffee shops and where ever I could find to have a little time to myself and my studies. Not to leave a study stone unturned, three weeks before the exam, I took a two  week cram course in Atlanta. I checked into a hotel near the event location.  I was in class ten days, eight hours a day preparing for the CFP final exam.

The day finally came to take the test.  Actually, the days finally came.  The exam was a two-day, ten hour test. Six hours on Friday and four hours on Saturday.  I used every minute of the time allotted. When I turned it in and left,  I knew two things, 1. I had failed the test and 2. I would never take it again. But one can always hope. Three weeks later when the letter from the College for Financial Planning arrived, I opened it and read the official results. The first word I read was "Failed."  Later my wife said, "When you read the letter, you stopped breathing".

Although it was "only a test", I felt like a failure. I received in the mail a certificate suitable for framing from the College of Financial Planning. In bold letters it stated that from the College of Financial Planning I had completed the education portion for CFP.  So I framed it and hung it on the wall at work. Since colleagues and clients looked at it and thought I was a CFP, it was just confusing to say, "No I'm not." . So I took it down and threw it away. There's no designation of "almost a CFP" regardless of the thousands of hours and dollars I had invested.

When I couldn't knock my discouragement, after six months I quit my job as an advisor and started teaching school. I had a couple of education degrees in my back pocket I had never used, so I brushed them off and put them to work. Not before I passed the Georgia Praxis exams.

Considering a large bunch of sour grapes, the whole idea of CFP is flawed.  The designation doesn't necessarily mean someone is professional and ethical. It means that the student was able to endure rigorous studies and pass insanely difficult exams.  That makes a financial advisor ethical? And I was less ethical for missing five more questions than he did of a ten hour exam?  Oh well.

I'm very glad that in my lifetime the Emergency Broadcast System has only been a test.  I don't ever want to know the consequences of failing that one.